


Burn the Witch

by Lachanophobic



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Blood and Violence, Dark, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Historical, graphic depictions of death, holy inquisition
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:28:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21862162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lachanophobic/pseuds/Lachanophobic
Summary: XV Century. The country is under the Papacy of an ignorant ruler, or so believes his right arm. Vegeta the Fourth, one of the most influential and inflexible clergymen of his time, is set on dethroning the profligate ruler.In order to keep Vegeta at arm's length from his court the Pope orders him to take care of the Prisoners of The White Tower, where he meets a young college student who has been sentenced to life imprisonment due to his beliefs.Fate, however, has a different plan for the two of them.
Relationships: Bulma Briefs/Vegeta
Comments: 35
Kudos: 48
Collections: Holy Rites//Horny Nites





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction is part of the Holy Rites and Holy Nites Event. I'd like to thank all the amazing writers (and friends) who contributed to this collection ([mahoganydoodles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MahoganyDoodles/pseuds/MahoganyDoodles) \- [areo_ian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areo_ian/pseuds/Areo_ian) \- [ni21](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ni21/pseuds/ni21) \- [rogue_1102](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rogue_1102/pseuds/rogue_1102) \- [katschusa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katschusa) \- [ruthlesscupcake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruthlesscupcake/pseuds/Ruthlesscupcake) \- [Lady_Red](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Red/pseuds/Lady_Red)) in which we take great pride. We worked a lot for this, brainstorming for months and helping each other through Sprints/Beta-ing and mutual suggestions. I had fun, so much fun that I'm already looking forward to the next one! 
> 
> Please, go read their stories!
> 
> This is my take, hopefully you enjoy it.

_The Highest has given us the Word and as their earthly servants, we must abide by it. So, as we burn the garments of those plagued by the pest, in the same way, we must purge the nation from those who refuse the laws of the Church._

  
  


_West City, 19 December 1482_

The sunshine had barely grazed the sky and the central square was already teeming with boisterous merchants bargaining 'culture' for a few dinars. It was the first week of Winter so, many burrowed in their pomegranate silks like trembling rodents. One of those shivering beings was a young acolyte whose only visible part of the face was a wild, black forelock jutting out from an even blacker cape. He was rigidly lined behind three other men, walking awkwardly and shyly in tow. _Cabba_ had been transferred to West City just a month prior and exceptionally taken under the wing of one of the most influential men of the clergy, or such at least were the young acolyte's beliefs. 

The man in question was right there, striding between two other burly priests, exceeding his height by many feet. However, there was a striking element that singled out the shortest of the three. His mane. Whilst the majority of the servants of God cut their hair as tradition, he exhibited it as a gift of the Highest. Many said, according to the treadmill, that such a unique hairdo was meant to represent the very ascension to the Empyrean. His black hair was shaped like a flame pointing at the sky. It was the volition of God, thus, that those who went against the laws of the Church must burn by the hand of the chosen one.

Among the stories surrounding his mysterious whereabouts, there were some stating that he had denounced even his father and kin for possessing forbidden books. After personally shaving their heads bald, indignant of their similar haircut, the priest had made them a prime example by hanging his whole family in their courtyard and refusing to remove their rotten corpses from the pillory for over a month. 

Cabba dared to raise his admired gaze enough to frame the back of the man, whose cape swung behind him like a kingly coat. With him beside the Pope, the young acolyte was sure, soon enough the world would finally be rid of heresy. His very name was testament to that. _Vegeta_ , from _Vegetus, 'he who rebuilds.'_

A small smile lifted his lips as his heart was filled with hope and safety. At the same time, the trio in front of him stopped upon Vegeta raising his hand briefly.

Cabba shuddered in his cape when his sightline met the same spot the other priest was staring at. 

Two men stood before a stand in the farthest corner of the cobbled street. It looked like they were bartering. The vendor, a short bald man… or kid… Cabba couldn't tell, had just dropped a little bag of dinars at his apparent customer and whispered something he could not decipher from just reading their labial.

Vegeta and Nappa, one of the other two priests, the taller, exchanged just a glance and the latter nodded in silent acknowledgment; of what, Cabba once again didn’t understand. The portly man whose black robe seemed to want to rip at the rims each time his muscles strained, walked toward the civilians with a phlegmatic gait as if totally disinterested.

When the two men in the distance noticed them, Cabba spotted their sudden freezing and the way the customer started to weirdly fumble with his vest.

“We’re leaving.” 

Cabba’s attention whipped back at Vegeta and at his distant, imperative command. He moved without them complying. Raditz, the only one of his superiors which always wore the hood flashed him an odd, mischievous glance. 

“You’ll get used to this, kid,” he said, his deep voice muffled by the fabric covering half of it. 

“W... what is happening?” Cabba ventured, stammering with a wisp of voice. 

“Turn your head slowly and don’t give the impression you’re looking in their way,” the other man continued, his timbre controlled and low, “Do you see that long-haired man? The scarred one?”

“Y-yes.”

“Good, now forget his face and watch closely at what he’s doing. Do you see something strange?”

The acolyte squeezed his eyes, it was difficult to stay focused and pretending to look straight ahead at the same time. “No.” He confessed, embarrassed with his lack of acuity.

“He’s hiding forbidden material. Pay attention to that sack of dinars, it’s not big but when the dwarf threw it on the table it fell heavily on the side. Which means, it’s full of gold dinars. A normal barter would not cost so much, and a merchant would never waste that currency upon _common tomes.”_

Cabba paled. He didn’t know why, but the way the other man was describing the crime felt like a cold blade slicing through tender flesh. He shuddered. “And what is going to happen to them?”

The hooded priest chuckled. “They’re getting what they deserve.”

\---

Nappa showed up again just when the sun had finally begun to filter strong through the bars of the central window. The wide quadrangle of dazzling light coming down from the impluvium marked noon. Cabba noticed that his stride, this time was brisker and the bald man wore a terrifying scowl on his unwashed face. They passed each other in one of the external corridors of the cloister, but the titanic priest did not spare him a single glance. He headed straight for somewhere in the west wing and disappeared behind a corner. Cabba stopped midway, clenching his fingertips around his book of prayers. He should dismiss earthly temptations such as curiosity, for prying into someone else’s matters was sacrilegious and not becoming of a servant of God. However, his young mind twitched with interest. The prospect of receiving a beating for breaking the rules made him shudder, he took a step forward, but at the same time his black eyes darted sideways. The thought wouldn't leave his mind so easily and he knew that. 

Squaring his shoulders to infuse a bit of courage in himself, the young acolyte turned on his heels and followed Nappa.

He arrived at the main salon and a few meters away, crossing along alleyway that started from beneath cusped arches. White, pristine walls were finely adorned with iconoclastic paintings. He felt as if the Saints pictured there would follow his every step with judging eyes. Cabba swallowed, feeling tiny and insignificant. That wing was a place he'd never been before; unlike the rest of the cloister it was rich and manicured. Befitting of a regent, or the man closest to the Pope. 

That must be where Vegeta resided.

The thought both frightened and filled Cabba with admiration.

"That is not possible!" 

A voice, and then the sound of glassware crashing over a hard surface stilled Cabba's stride to a sudden stop, making him swallow his racing heart whole. 

"That egoistic pig cares about transgressions as much as I care for baths, Vegeta. All he sees are banquets and harlots. It is not with a missive that you are going to convince him."

Cabba recognised the other voice in the room instantaneously. Nappa was there, apparently, dealing with an infuriated Vegeta.

"If that's how he intends to play this game, I might as well go and tell it to his face then. Saddle the horses immediately, I'm departing for North City."

"And travel for two weeks and half just to be denied parole."

"He cannot refuse me."

"He's still the Pope, he can do whatever he wants. Be reasonable, Vegeta."

Cabba hadn't moved fast enough, that the massive wooden door swung open in his face, sending him flying ruinously on his rear. 

Two pair of eyes observed him coolly from the threshold. It was Nappa who stepped forward, crossing his burly arms and chuckling darkly. "Look what we have here. A prying insect." He leaned toward him and Cabba felt his bladder almost surrender at the frightening storm brewing in his eyes.

Nappa yanked him up by the collar. "This is how you repay us for saving your shriveled arse from the streets? Eavesdropping?" His foul breath smelled like rotten meat and alcohol. Cabba wanted to tell him he was grateful, that it wasn't his intention to listen clandestinely to their exchange. But nothing managed to leave his mouth beyond the rattling of his teeth.

"Leave him." Vegeta's cool, detached voice interjected from behind the titanic priest. He wasn't even looking at them, just stretching a pair of winter white gloves on his fingers.

"But… Vegeta he…"

"This instant, Nappa."

Cabba fell on the ground, still trembling like a child. He felt dirty, a traitor. How could he have done such a horrible thing to his savior, the master he esteemed so much? Slowly, he crouched on the damask flooring, hiding his head between tightly clasped hands. "F-forgive me, sir. I sinned. I don't deserve your gracefulness. Please, allow me to atone for my mistakes with whatever punishment you see fit."

He could feel Vegeta's gaze weigh on him.

"You will follow me to North City." He commanded. "And won't leave my side unless I require you to. You will tend to the horses and arrange provisions. You'll be fasting for three days from now and speak when asked. You're stripped from your title and demoted to roundsman until you prove that you're fit to be a servant of God. I expect those who serve the Highest through me to do so with pride. On your feet and raise your head, or I'll send you back to where you belong."

"Vegeta, are you crazy? Do you really intend to go to the Pope… and with this arrogant child in tow? He'll just slow you down! Let me take care of him, a good old whipping is all he needs to be reminded of his place."

Cabba did raise his head, amazed he got on his feet as ordered. He did not deserve such a merciful master… he did not…

"If he ever dares hinder my course again, he won't come back alive." Vegeta spared him the barest glance, and for the first time since he'd come to know him, Cabba saw _deviance_ in his bottomless, onyx eyes. They shone with something twisted, that chilled him to the bone. 

"Now go, saddle my horse."

Cabba stared at him, transfixed and scared as he'd never been in his life. Then, just when his body functions seemed enough under control to allow him movement did he run outside. Run as fast as he could. 

_Mephistopheles_. He cried, silently, because those thoughts couldn't belong to him. That was undoubtedly fear speaking for him. 

Those eyes _._

 _Oh, forgive me God, for_ _letting_ _impure reasoning take the best of me_ , he prayed.

Those eyes he'd just seen didn't belong to God.

\---

They had been traveling for days. At some point, snow had started to fall gently on the silent cobbled street; now a thick layer of pure white powder covered it. Cabba couldn't see anything else. Due to his punishment, he hadn't been allowed to eat yet. Snow, was the only solace to his parched mouth. Notwithstanding, knowing this was a trial he owed not just to his master but also to God, the ex-acolyte had gladly endured it. Forcing his feet one after the other even when strength threatened to leave his body, he kept his gaze focused even when his head had started to loll forward, fuzzy and heavy. 

The image of Vegeta's back, always straight and unbending, swinging at the trot of his horse no matter the weather was inspiring and encouraged the younger priest not to yield to earthly needs. 

Even if, the image of that look he'd gave him before their departure still haunted his thoughts in the back of his mind. Thoughts he desperately wished would leave him alone. A temptation of Satan, that was what it must be.

Snow crunched under his cold feet clad in nothing but sandals. The cold was unyielding but the scenery breathtaking. Cabba smiled, grateful for having being allowed to travel by his master's side.

"We're stopping." Vegeta announced, dismounting from the black equine with ease. Once again, he didn't look at him, the priest merely moved towards what seemed a rundown inn on the roadside. Cabba followed suit, speeding up his pace to not slow down his master, as he had been instructed a few days ago.

"You may eat tonight, kid." Vegeta announced, while his feet sank in the snow.

Cabba stopped, eyes widening in stupor and tears welling up in them.

"We'll resume our trip at dawn. Sleep. We won't take anymore detours for a while."

The young priest wiped tears away with his sleeve, and nodded fiercely. "Yes, sir!"

\---

As the end of their second week, they had already reached North City. As Vegeta had announced, they had barely slept or stopped in the last days. Pauses had been kept to a minimum to bane cold from seeping into their bones. Cabba was exhausted, his muscles barely responded anymore and he had stopped feeling his limbs days ago. They hadn't exchanged words, usually Vegeta spoke just to give instructions and then fell silent. It hadn't been bad, silence allowed Cabba to pray, to feel closer to the Highest and admire the splendor of woods capped with snow. 

Now, the city bustled with life. North City was the Capital and as such, hosted the biggest University of the country. Young scions walked around with books under their arms, clad in elegant brocades and colorful feathers on their puffy hats. Cabba had his mouth agape, fatigue long forgotten due to the shimmering beauty of the architecture in front of him. Something he'd seen just drawn in books before.

"Close your mouth kid, and walk brisk. We have no time for sightseeing." 

Cabba could barely hear Vegeta's voice in all the commotion, but he ran near the horse, walking as close as possible beside the animal.

Some people turned at their passage, recognizing Vegeta immediately. His signature hairstyle was like a crest, and Cabba felt his heart swell with admiration once again. 

Then, his legs started to buckle. In all of this, he'd forgotten they were going to ask audience to the Pope in the flesh. The holy man through whom God spoke his will.

Surely, he'd wait outside. In no way would someone lowly like him being allowed in the presence of the mightiest. But still, the thought of being so close was so overwhelming that he felt like fainting.

But the more they approached the Pope's residence, the larger the crowd grew. Vegeta halted his horse, which neighed nervously. 

The only thing Cabba could parse, were shining peaks of spears and hear the mass in front of him heiling outrage.

The short priest managed to find a gap in the fleshy wall of people, and stuck his head between two gentlemen, managed to see what was happening.

Guards were apparently escorting three young boys, all of them wore fine clothes, which meant they were part of the upper-class. Whilst the two young men in the back walked with their heads hung, the first one of the row tossed and kicked, using words that prompted Cabba to cross himself twice.

"They're being dragged in front of the Tribunal of the Inquisition." Someone whispered.

"It looks like they were caught studying forbidden science." Another replied, with a hand in front of her mouth.

"Anatomy? Oh good Lord. But that one man there, look at that hair. That color is unnatural. He must be a son of Satan."

Cabba attention was trained on the same boy. Lithe and thin, his hair a shock of azure that glistened against the sunlight.

That kind of hue couldn't possibly be found in Hell, it resembled the sky in May. 

When he turned over, Vegeta was watching the scene with vitriol sizzling in his charcoal eyes. He mouthed _Inquisition?_ like he'd bane the very existence of those sinners.

He slapped the rear of his horse and the animal bucked, neighing and huffing. The crowd opened and all the eyes were on him.

"Clear the street immediately _. I am_ the Inquisition here."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to open this chapter with an important premise, what follows is not, in any way, historically accurate. In fact, oftentimes, the trials held by the Tribunals of the Inquisition were sober functions that would rather exculpate the accused person unless they had hard evidence of a crime. The Tribunal of Inquisition is also the foundation of our current juridical system, as it was based on researching the truth before throwing every single person in jail. Also, punishments/torture wasn't as it's often pictured in movies/dramas. Rome was especially careful and tried to curb the mass hysteria that pushed many people to randomly accuse basically everyone out of fear. Whilst I stayed faithful to some extent to historical documents, I also exaggerated some events for the plot's sake. That said, enjoy the fanfiction!

Sweat beaded on Cabba's forehead, and not just because he was kneeling on the very floor, his Holiness the Pope, had stepped on countless times. Despite the overall greatness of the ivory-colored chambers, the air felt stifling, heavy, and hot. 

The young ex-acolyte chanced a glance at his master, just a few feet away and parallel to him. His head was bowed low, right arm barely grazing his bent knee, but contrary to the one the young priest wore, the other's fierce gaze pointed straight in front of him. Any other man would maybe read the submission, but all that Cabba felt radiating from his stance was contumacy. It couldn't possibly be, because Vegeta was one of the closest men to the Pope and thus his most humble servant. Therefore, Cabba couldn't place the reason behind that vitriolic stare; except for having witnessed that heretic pageant of young students. He too was dismayed upon seeing such a waste of brilliant minds sacrificed to the whims of Satan.

Again, though… his master was never rash or impetuous. He was thoughtful and wise, a man leagues apart from the likes of him, whose mind was so easily pliable to worldly doubts. That is why Cabba strived to someday become a man of such moral stature, and therefore he'd be truly worthy to walk by that man's side.

Creaking, the wide door in front of them was finally opened, pushed outward by two pairs of finely clothed guards. Through it, appeared a willowy figure, his face seemed sculpted by angels, made of gracious and serene features, his body was bathed in a crimson vest. A cardinal. Cabba curtsy deepened, his forehead almost touched the ground. 

"Reverend Vegeta," the man spoke with a soft voice, almost feminine in its sobriety. "I did not receive any missive informing me of your arrival, otherwise I would have provided a proper accommodation." 

"I would never inconvenience his Eminence with such trivialities." 

Cabba raised his head sharply, but upon noticing the guards' disdainful glare, he immediately cowered again but kept his eyes trained on Vegeta, whose previous biting comment had frozen the very blood in his veins.

"Of course you wouldn't." The timbre of their interlocutor didn't change, but then he added, "I'm afraid that  _ you should have _ , inasmuch as the Pope is very troubled at this moment. He cannot receive you."

"I shall wait then." Vegeta's response was prompt and held a note of finality, that the Cardinal didn't like, or so Cabba surmised from the ensuing, uncomfortable silence.

The two men held each other's gaze for interminable seconds. The air sizzled with unspoken hatred, even if the two contestants were both relaxed and seemingly exchanging pleasantries. Maybe, it was just an erroneous impression dictated by inexperience, Cabba told himself. He was, after all, a mere initiate. Some urchin coming from the streets, who couldn't possibly pick the subtle thoughts passing between two sanctimonious men.

"Very well," the cardinal paused. The corners of his lips curled up in an odd, complacent smile, "if you will follow me, there is a trial I shall attend." 

\---

It was the first time, in his seventeen years of life, that Cabba stepped into a tribunal. Much to his surprise, it was nothing like the horror stories he had heard about it, which described floors struck with blood and prisoners forced to kneel on their excrements. The court was small if compared to the grandiose building born from his imagination. By the crowd of civilians on the farthest corner of the room, in front of it, stood two guards. They held a long rope, that tied the hands to the back of the three accused assailants. All of them were standing proudly, chin up, and gazing at the intimidating crucifix, hanging on the pristine wall further ahead. It was fixed above a wooden table, six finely inlaid seats were disposed of in a semi-circle around it, forming a forum awaiting for the judges. 

The silence was deferential, so much so that it had reminded the acolyte of a Church. Once again, his lost gaze shifted to Vegeta; whose countenance was closed off and eyes as cold as the chilling winter outside. The previous fire in him seemed extinguished, suffocated again under layers of well-trained composure. The small priest tried to straighten his back and adjust his arms behind his back, as the older mentor was doing. He even watched his feet, trying to align them as perfectly as the other priest. However, when he returned his attention to the object of his admiration, the man was glowering at him, probably irritated by his graceless attempt. Cabba scrambled and stood more rigid than before, more like a miniature soldier than a servant of God. Vegeta didn't linger on him more than the necessary, his pitch-black irises were pointed straight in front of him and his mouth upturned into a neutral line. 

Soon, the sound of a bell chimed, saving Cabba from further shame and cueing the arrival of the Inquisition. Heads bowed at their passage and some people crossed themselves. Among the six men there was the Cardinal they had met before, in front and behind him paraded men he didn't recognize, all clothed in red and black. 

As they sat under the cross and motioned the trial to commence, Cabba swallowed, feeling the atmosphere around him shift immediately to tension. All the eyes were pointed towards the three young boys. 

When the first one was called under close scrutiny and made to climb up on the dock, Cabba noticed that the student's eyes were bloodshot and his cheeks striped with dried-up tears. Mentally, the acolyte recited a prayer for him, certain that the Highest would be merciful with such a young man. 

One of the judges stood up, holding a book, and recited his name, it was foreign, so Cabba didn't understand it well. He didn't have eyebrows, was burly and his white, oily hair swung on his shoulders as he spoke. "You are hereby accused of practicing anatomical experimentation and preaching atheism to the masses. You are accused of refusing the Pope as the head of the Church and therefore recognizing him as the Hand of God on the Earth. As of today, we have collected tomes and instruments from your house as proof of your crime. You are allowed to pick someone of your preference to fend for you. You are allowed to recant upon immediate confession. Do you confess?"

The boy stood with his chin up, and even if his knees shook, for all the trial he defended his beliefs. In all of that, Cabba didn't know where to stand. Indeed, whoever refused the word of God through defying the Pope was a heretic. But still, was it truly right for men to accuse each other using the name of God? That thought fleeted in his mind just for a second. He discarded it, choosing to turn over to Vegeta again; and see what his master thought about the trial.

His eyes went wide, he recognized in Vegeta's gaze the same wickedness he had witnessed the day of their departure for the Capital. Cabba shivered. The older priest hadn't moved an inch, but his fists, now along his hips, trembled of ire. 

What was it, that agitated him so? Yet, they were watching the same trial, a scene that had moved the youngest of the two to feel pity for the accused. Was he still this unripe? Perhaps, he shouldn't feel compassion for those in the wrong. 

The young accused, in the end, was felled by the pressure of the forum and retracted his beliefs. On one side, Cabba was relieved, the man would be freed. On the other… something inside him, a voice he once again refused to acknowledge, whispered to him that this wasn't right. 

Now it was the turn of  _ that boy _ . The one that had captured his attention outside, in the square. Whilst he strutted briskly toward the dock, the delicate sunlight filtering through versicolored window panes accentuated the striking azure of his short mane. Like the cardinal, the boy had a fair complexion, his face was a perfect oval and long, thick lashes framed the shocking contrast of his grim expression. 

The judge, this time, seemed to dwell on checking a long pile of papers before acknowledging the boy. "You seem to possess quite a stock of fraud names, young man," said the magistrate, perusing a certain document. "You are a 'scientist', but also a 'doctor' and many other titles I won't bother to list in this venue. You attend four universities and clandestine courses. It came to my attention that you have a sheer number of prosecutors. It is a protocol, although evidence makes it futile, I have to ask you if you have enemies." 

Cabba was impressed. No… probably impressed wasn't the right term. He was amazed. How could such a young man, have deceived the law, and lived freely, until now?

The blue-haired student spat on the floor, refusing to respond to the implied question. The acolyte, for the second time that day, crossed himself. 

"Are you aware of your position, boy? A simple confession won't erase your crimes. Either you cooperate or you will be submitted to the bronze test." 

Many individuals in the court gasped at the threat, and Cabba didn't understand why. He searched for Vegeta's gaze, possibly to ask for an explanation… but didn't find it. The impeached boy had the priest's full attention. Hell was alive in his gaze now, a sentiment Cabba deciphered as hatred, fanned the flames in the charcoal of his black irises. 

Just by chance, passing his attention between the main subjects of his focus, Cabba caught the Cardinal glancing in their direction. Their gazes met briefly and in that span, the other man gave him an enigmatic smile. Confused, the young priest looked around him, just to make sure the man wasn't aiming for someone else behind or next to him. But when he returned on the clergyman, he was back to following the trial. Why would he- 

"B-being aware or not, would not change anything." Finally, the boy seemed ready to loosen his tongue, even though sweat was glistening on his forehead and the initial words came out a little stuttered. Not receiving any reply, he went on "I do what I do because otherwise there would be no other way to reach what I want. Am I wrong? This society is wicked, wicked like the _ one you call the head of your Church _ ." 

Brief shock passed among the several faces in the forum, the exact alarm that invested Cabba. What was that man saying? 

"In this era, people have so much interest in religious matters that all we have left is rudimentary knowledge. And that is not enough anymore, and this is especially true for those who are educated and thirsty for innovation. We are constantly looking for new stimuli, that we have to seek covertly because you fear what you don't know." He took a break, his breathing gradually becoming shallower. However, real fear never grazed his features because he probably knew, that wearing a toga and an academic headgear - symbols of his status as a student - allowed the boy to freely express his thoughts even in front of the Inquisition. 

Even so, the crowd behind them started to whisper with animosity, forcing the judge to lose his composure. "Refute immediately what you just said, boy!" 

"I believe," he continued, "that the church is in the wrong. For spreading the notion that men are impure creatures that need to pass the judgment of God in order to do something good by themselves-"

It happened so fast, that Cabba didn't have time to react. In the corner of his eye, he just noticed the shadow of Vegeta leaving his place. When he swirled around toward the man, following his direction, the older priest was already at the center of the room, gathering all the attention to him. Cabba panicked, his gut reaction, urged the acolyte to advance a few steps in order to follow his master, but fear pushed him backward. He was at a loss of words and failed to completely catch his breath when Vegeta grabbed the frontal garb of the boy and ripped it off of his chest. 

The accused stumbled, then hurried to cover the offending part of his… 

No,  _ her _ body.

Cabba cupped his whole face in his palms, but in the split-second preceding the action he had seen enough. The bandages wrapped around the woman's bosom, she probably used them to hide her femininity. He felt his cheeks on fire but also, mentally chided himself for being embarrassed in such a dire situation.

" _ This _ is the  _ wrong _ of the Church," Vegeta spoke and at his words, Cabba forced his hands away from his eyes. The man was standing tall in front of the accused, side-eyeing the strip of cloth in his hand with disgust, which he raised overhead, showing it to the speechless audience. "Scum, like this woman, those who deceive the eye of the just."

The young priest knew that Vegeta was in the right. However, his heart stung at his words and at the sight of that girl hugging herself in shame. His hands itched to remove his cape and drape it on her shoulders. But all he could do was watch. If he dared overstep his boundaries his master, the man he admired so dearly, would surely take his life or worse… watch him brimming with disdain. Because surely, his actions would be erroneous. 

The young student raised her head to the offender and in the cobalt blue of her intense eyes Cabba saw fury. She stood straight again, deciding to sacrifice prudery and stand up for herself. Bashful, she walked near Vegeta and leaped, snatching the garb from his hand. "You just? Don't make me laugh!" 

Vegeta towered above her, catching her wrist and blocking it mid-air. Even if he was a few inches shorter than the woman, his shadow seemed to want to swallow her frame whole. His posture was rigid like one of the holy sculptures in the main square and his visage a mold of edges. The prominent sharpness of his chin and cheekbones highlighted by the setting of his jaw. He was so close to her face that the condensed air of their breaths intermingled. "You shouldn't even be allowed to speak, and I shall remedy that," he said. It had been a whisper, but it echoed in the court like a wintry breeze. It seeped into Cabba's bones, making him quiver. 

Nobody. No soul in the room dared speak. Not even the highest magistrate. It seemed as if, Vegeta's presence alone, had brought the judgment of God himself among the living.

His fingers delved into her flesh, crushing the limb in his hold. Until he released it as if he would have swatted a fly. Turning his back to the woman, he removed his pristine gloves, throwing them on the ground. "Burn them." 

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to **Ruthelesscupcake** , **Lady_Red** , **Rogue_1102** and **Ni21** who cheered, beta-ed and supported me while writing this.


End file.
